Dance of Death
by MusicOverMatter
Summary: In the story "Masquerade of the Red Death", everyone feared him, hated him. But what if there was one who didn't? I say this is a crossover simply because I imagined Red Death looking like A.L.W.'s Red Death.


This story symbolizes accepting death, basically. Accepting life, and finding peace in it. Each room stands for a different stage in life, and the plants mentioned have meaning attributed to them. Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's story "Masquerade of the Red Death" and my obsession "Phantom of the Opera'. :)

But really, everything stands for what it means to you. What you see may not be what someone else does, and that's fine. So enjoy! And please, do post a review when you are done. ;)

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I opened my eyes to drink in the atmosphere: I was in a room of Blue magnificence. No words could describe the shades of that most wondrous color, ranging from earthly navy to ethereal indigo. Objects strewn about the room spoken of a newness, of the early dawn of life. Delicate and fresh, like a bud which blooms in the blush of beloved dawn. Baby's breath, heather, dew. Here, the music was gentle and slow, a lullaby tumbling softly from the lips of the darling mother.

I rose from my place, barely stepping across the floor, eyes starry with the fantasy of this new world. Would a single word touch my trembling tongue? Nay, for words existed not where such a thing was naught. Early in the east, breathing in new life.

That's when I saw him first. Dressed in a most passionate color, burning upon my star-crossed eyes. All the others shied away from him, crying forth in resistance. How they reviled him! How I was enchanted by him! He caught my eye, they shimmered with something I could not name, and yet was I enchanted. He passed by me, I gazed in wonder. Others hid their eyes, mine could not depart.

Then the clock struck six. Suddenly the music stopped, the company was silent, and a melody -more melancholy a cradle-song- called me away from blue.

I entered Purple.

There, such a twittering of pure delight! Flittering, like a butterfly's wing. Royal Dark hues spanned below, lavender light ones filtered above. Everything was a question, a discovery! I discovered textures: wet, dry, soft, smooth. I wondered at the different sights, rising from a state of stillness, starting to move in a way that made my stalling tongue to gasp and gurgle, to squeal and giggle! In the air, a playful tune tickled my still-awakening senses. It spoke of things I'd never know, yet wished I could. It led me on my tottering feet, which steadied as I grew stronger, bolder.

Daisy, dandelion, fern. All was cheer, all was gay. Wandering, following, I was still unsure of where I went, but I was beckoned by a dawning world.

Then I felt him, a brush on my shoulder. I turned, and drank in his sight with my new sight. All there turned and hid from him, fleeing from his touch. Yet I remained. I reached out, and he carefully took my hand. Cold, shiver, delight!

Thus, the clock hit seven. The music stumbled, the mass was still, and a tinkling tune -full of curiosity, queer and wonderful- crept among the odd apartment, and lured me away from purple.

I entered Green.

Swirling sea foam, leaping shamrock, every green brought thoughts of growing in the sunshine, carefree in youthful glee. The room called forth the voices impetuous, unexperienced. Laughter low, not sure of itself, echoed in the corners. There, I saw my first dance. It was gentle, not so fast. Stepping lightly, carefully moving. Those who didn't dance still looked on in eager expectation. And yet, still everything was held back by an invisible tie to mother's voice, to innocent days where tongues and feet were bound.

The music rejoiced, quick like a rabbit, springy as a fawn. It invited the dancers to praise life, to hold on to the ribbon connecting each to shadows of the light and innocent blue and purple, which was quickly becoming shorter. I moved unsure behind the party-goers than had already learned the dance, trying to imitate their careful, measured movements. A sonnet skipped on my lips, my fingers shaking, reaching for a ceiling they could never hope to feel. And yet I didn't care, for my joy was contained in being there, among the lush and popular! I let myself fall and rise, and I cried out whether I was fallen or not. Only so my presence would be known. Azalea, Lily, Larkspur.

But murmurs of discontent broke out among those voices, dancers jerked farther from me. I didn't know why, what had I done? A hand caressed my shoulder, it folded around my hand, and I was lightly led to the dance floor. His movement was very like my own, his presence surrounded me and made my heart to speed. I didn't know why, but I was glad in it. How gently he moved with me, and yet he guided me. Unlike the others was his dance, but he stayed himself, and contained to the dance of green.

At eight the clock rang forth, the fawn music tripped, the giddy dancers halted. Slithering, warning, uneasy, the music paled the once ruddy faces of the green-room dancers. It slithered around me and pulled me away from green.

I entered Orange.

Bright and dark, light and heavy, the shades of oranges were loud and demanding. They were unafraid and burst forth to fill every one of my senses. I felt alive, and separated from childish urge. A sunburst of passion, of revelry. Like the peak of day, the joy of nature! Coy eyes behind opened fans, dashing smiles on fair faces. Who was immune to the rush of joy? I rushed to join the snapping dance, like the whip of dragon tail, like the snap of it's jaws. I felt the master of myself, above the world. Head high, no regrets. Carnation, Hyacinth, Poppy. Carpe Dium poured from every mouth. I felt a fire in my bones, youth was with me, and I scorned it not.

And so the shouts of excitement to shouts of scorn in some. Their faces seared with hate, as the man of mystery came amongst the revelers once more. Instead, I came to him, the stirrings of my heart excited by knowing I would dance with him. In his arms I returned, ready to snap and crack like my fellow companions. But this time his steps were surer, his own movements contending with my own. He urged me to move like him, subtly he pressed here to bend me there. Just as fast as the draconic dancers, yet underneath another dance was taking shape, barely veiled by the dance of orange. His eyes prodded mine, and in them flickered that same thing from blue, and this time I could see clearer what it was. Though still, I knew it not. And so I wished I did.

Yet again, the clock sang nine. It sang dangerous and beseeching, mocking the statue-still people, and the now silent music. It simmered in the room, melting away the joys of unbridled youth, pushing me from orange.

I entered White.

Stark, clear, unclouded, unveiled. There was nothing hidden from my eyes, for in blinding brightness, even the smallest things are visible. Here, there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Cruel grins played upon their faces, and brooding figures loomed at the outskirts. Those who danced, were totally saturated by the dance. It was as if they were blinded to the surrounding world, captured only by their partners and the music. This music was unlike any other. It was frightening and dark, it no longer held the innocence of blue, the curiosity of purple, the lightness of green, and it burned hotter than any passion of orange. As I danced the rigid, unapologetic dance, I found myself hiding behind the sharp jerks and hard turns. Running from something, wishing once more for color.

Without even a warning he came, grabbing me and dragging me into the dance. The masqueraders looked on in pure scorn, and still they stayed far away. For the first time I saw him clearly, and I was afraid. As I tried to dance, his dance was clear, and he jabbed hard at me when I tried to follow the others with my steps. I was swept away by his movements, as pain sprouted here and there. Now he was to be in control. No ribbon trailed down from blue, purple, green. Not even the promise of orange. I became lost, crying out. Dark crimson rose, marigold, Daffodil. He pushed me this way, yanking me that way. My tears were a strange color, they looked like his. And then I understood. I was broken, stumbling, and yet nothing held me to him but myself.

Once more, the clock called ten. The harsh music was stopped, the faces jeering were frozen. And so he dropped me, left me there on the snow-white floor. I lay there, dwelling on the things I finally saw. Now, could I reclaim blue? Perhaps purple? Maybe green? No. All was white. The music from the clock now was a sweeping sob, a longing sigh, and it lifted me up, and it lifted me away from white.

I entered violet.

A string of sorrow. A single note: Pure, low. Sad, slow. It was a hue haunted by fires, yet dull in glow. The dancers were like masts on ships, moving upright and stiffly, holding to the memory of trees. I felt myself moving like a ghost, my steps barely gracing the floor. No youthful passions weighted my path. Bluebells, anemone, acacia. The others looked on me with pity, she who danced with mystery. They were flighty, falsely vying for a happiness that was no longer there. Hung with the regret that was ignored and disregarded in green and orange, and unknown in blue and purple.

And like every time before, he came. They spited him, and now their eyes held fear. But they turned a blind eye, and pitied me as before. I fell into his strong arms, stumbling as I tried to dance as I always had. But now, my body followed, it floated with his, moving with his dance. Even in pain, in regret, in sorrow, I was still captivated. By him. I looked at his face, still covered by the grotesque mask. I had nothing left to fear from it, so I let myself be led more calmly, my heart beat as before, and now I knew what it was, and despite it all, I smiled. For now, the striving of my youth was known. I was glad, where others could only lament.

For the eleventh time, the clock sounded forth. The music sputtered out, the men and women shuttered as the clock's music ran through them, taunting them. It was light and mocking, foreboding in it's simplicity. Without a second thought, I was surrounded by the music, as it lead the way, away from violet.

I entered Black and Red.

Here, there was no music. There were no dancers. It was quiet, and stately. A color unlike any other, pitch and shadow. It spoke of something, it spoke of what they all feared. And the red, it's was the only form of light. It cast a garish shadow over the only item in the room: an ebony clock. Fir, sweet-pea, zinnia.

Then, he was there. In front of the clock he stood, as the prince of the castle, the lord of the feast, came forward to remove Red Death's mask. They stood at the door, coming from every room. All shouting, yelling, screaming. I stood motionless, watching him make no move to stop them.

Just as the mask was pulled away, the clock chimed twelve.

A steady beat, a persistent drumming. The mask was gone, and in it's place was the face of death. A wind swept through, carried by the swelling beat. They tried to stand against it, they fought it with their snaps and steps, sharp and clear. But it beat against them, wearing them away til' they were no more. All perished before death.

But as the wind swept to me, I danced. The movements coming natural, the music familiar. I was lifted, floating on the music. Past Violet, White, Orange, Green, Purple, Blue. As I left the castle, drawn out by the wind, it changed to the form of death. But as he formed again, with his mask gone I saw his face unveiled once more. The red and black faded away.

I was left with peace.

For all my life, I danced with death. And when it came for me I accepted it. And now I dance on the winds, with the truth I had learned.

I dance with Beloved Peace


End file.
